Months Later
by Just.Know.That.I.Love.You
Summary: Ziva David left almost everything she had known months ago. Now, she begins to feel it is time to make a return. But the road home isn't always straight. T for mild swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: I haven't written anything in a long time, but for some reason I recently got the urge to write. This is my first multi-chapter fic, and I hope it goes well. No idea when I will be updating again.**

** Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or its characters. Some days I wish I did.**

The first thing that pops into her head as she watches him walk away is why. It's a simple question, really, but it branches off into so much more. Why me? Why do all the crappy things in this world have to happen to me? Out of the seven billion or so people on the earth, why can't bad things happen to someone else for a change?

She's not stupid. She's not irrational, or unreasonable, or delusional, or any other word that would imply that she is not fully aware that all the bad in the world does not happen to her. Still, sometimes she wonders. Still, sometimes she thinks. Still, sometimes, when she looks back at her childhood she imagines a time where it wasn't her. She imagines a past where she grew up in a fully functioning family with a father and a mother, a brother and a sister, a group of people who all loved each other. She imagines a father who didn't train his kids from a young age to grow up in a painful world, but who showed them love and patience, acknowledging that it was okay to make mistakes. She imagines a mother who didn't die so young, a mother who didn't drag her kids away from their father without a decent explanation. She imagines a sister who wasn't torn from the grips of life at the young age of sixteen, who didn't experience the blinding pain as a bomb tore her apart. And most of all, she imagines a past where her brother did not make the decisions that led her to claim his life. She imagines a lot. She thinks a lot. She wishes for a lot.

Perhaps one of the things she wishes that she could change the most is her relationship with the man boarding the plane. She made her decision, a decision to chase down the past that was given to her, and she made the decision to disappear to do it. And after she made that decision, after she returned to the place where her mother was buried, and her childhood home, and her sister's grave, she was found. By the person she wanted to find her the least. For a long time during the months she was gone she deluded herself into thinking that she would never be found, and that her disappearing act would only hurt herself. She believed that she could wallow in the past forever, never coming out and facing reality. Maybe a small part of her knew that was unreasonable, but she doubts it. When she tries, she can convince herself of anything. After all, in her life she has relied on her ability to do just that. It is the only way she was able to do some of the things she has done.

She returns her attention to the airplane and the man within. She can still feel a phantom of the pressure of his lips on hers, a ghost of a promise that came too late. In her mind she traces his every move, watching the white exterior, wishing it was invisible so that she could see him better. However, she has her imagination. By now, she thinks, he is on the plane, probably storing his bag. A few moments later, she is sure that he must be in his seat fascinating his seatbelt. She details his every move in her mind, imagining and thinking until she watches the plane go down the runway. It's while she is turning away that she notices a flash of orange. She turns back, panicking. The plane is no longer a plane, but a ball of flames. Good things happen too late. Good things don't always work out. Good things are hard to manage. And as she turns away from the airfield, she is certain that is true.

* * *

Ziva David wakes with a name on her lips and a feeling of panic in her chest. The sheets on her bed are twisted around her, and she claws at them while trying to sit up. Sweat runs down the small of her back as she reaches for the bottle of water next to her on the nightstand. Her breathe catches in her chest and she begins to panic, worried that she is having another anxiety attack. In the past few months, they have become more and more common. So have the nightmares.

The one she just dragged herself from is the most common, but there are many visions that haunt her dreams. They make her nighttime word hell, and recently their effects have been dragging through into the next day. As a result, she has been sleepy and jumpy at her new job. She has only been working at Bill and Bob's Shop 'til You Drop Supermarket for a little under two weeks, and despite the fact that the job is unlike anything she has ever experienced, she loves it. It is safer than anywhere else she has ever worked. She does not have to watch her back or worry that someone she loves will die in the next few minutes. Besides, she doesn't keep contact with those she loves anymore. It is too hard.

Ziva glances at the clock next to her bed and notes that she has another two hours before she has to be at work. She is exhausted, but she knows that there is no way she will fall back asleep. Sighing, she pushes the covers off of her and grabs her running clothes, changing fast in the cool night air. The air conditioner in her small hotel room is cranked on high, and despite herself she is shivering. She wants to hop right back under the covers and sleep for a year, but she knows that if she does the dreams will return. With that thought she pulls on her running shoes and leaves the hotel room, making sure to grab her key as she leaves. She had an awkward experience earlier that week as the seedy hotel manager unlocked her room for her, peeking in at her stuff as the door swung open. To make it more awkward, she was stuck in a too small towel because she had been returning from the hotel's over-chlorinated pool. She shudders at the thought. A repeat performance is not desired.

As she walks the hall to the hotel's small exercise room she listens to the quiet. Most people are still sleeping, even though it is bordering seven o' clock on a Tuesday morning. She can faintly hear someone snoring through the thin walls, and laughs quietly to herself. Tony used to tease her about her snoring. He said that Ziva sounded like a dying truck driver, among other things. She is still laughing as she opens the door to the small exercise room and stares at the treadmill. It's the only piece of exercise machinery in the room. She sighs and wishes for the gym membership that she used to have. While she is wishing, she desires a night of full sleep and a nice clean apartment. She is getting tired of the string of crappy hotels and minimum wage jobs. Still, she knows that she asked for this. She is the one who decided to leave all she knew in order to completely find herself. And she knew it would be hard. Although she didn't think it would be this hard.

Ziva puts her water bottle on a small table next to the treadmill and pushes her headphones in her ears. She cranks the volume up high and gets lost in the music. After she steps on the treadmill and cranks the setting to where she can run 5 miles in a half hour, she allows her body to relax into the comfortable pace. The run is familiar to her, and she finds that she doesn't have to think. Her breathing and footsteps sync until she is lost in the trouble-free world of her own imagination.

* * *

Half an hour later she is covered in sweat and in the middle of an endorphin rush. She is finally positive and feels that she is on top of the world. She also feels hungry. The hotel she is staying at is not one of the sort to provide free breakfast, and she knows she will have to fend for herself. She decides that she feels like pancakes, for the first time in months. She doesn't fight it and instead decides to go with the flow. She returns to her hotel room and quickly showers, before grabbing her purse and leaving again. Years of habits have led her to be cautious as she steps into the bright morning, and she instinctively puts her hand to her hip where her gun used to be. The gun is gone, but she still has a knife in her boot. After all, old habits die hard.

She quickly walks the couple of blocks to a breakfast place she had passed a few times before. The place is pretty much empty, and her order is taken right away. The chocolate chip pancakes she ordered on a whim are eaten quickly and quietly. She tips the obviously pregnant teenage waitress 20 dollars, even though her bill came to less than that, and leaves the same way she came in. Quietly. Peacefully. Ghostlike.

She returns the hotel with only half an hour to go until her shift starts. She curses her indulgence, and quickly changes into her uniform. At any job she has had before, she was always early, rarely late, and even more rarely exactly on time. Since she started taking smaller jobs her old ways had been relaxing. At first it had been hard, but now she is used to it. Still, that doesn't mean she likes coming into work late. She is in and out of the hotel room in five minutes.

Nothing interesting happens to her at work. She stocks shelves, mans the cash register, and has an interesting conversation with an elderly lady during her lunch break. She is bored out of her skull for half the day and has the innate feeling that she has accomplished nothing by the time she clocks out. Later that night, as she sits alone in her hotel room reading a book, she pauses to ask herself what she is doing. She can't keep living like this. She can't keep living in a world where she is all alone in a sea of strangers. She always knew that this period was temporary. She knew she would never be able to leave forever. And she decides it is time to go home.

**I have been wondering what has been happening to Ziva these past few months since her character left the show. I suspect she had money to survive without working, but in my head she is trying to experience what she never got a chance to, including bad jobs. So I wrote this. I am exploring her missing months. **


	2. Chapter 2

**So Chapter Two is up! Finally. I think I know where I am going with this story now, so hopefully updates will be faster. If not, sorry, but real life is a hassle sometimes. Oh, and this will now be told in more than one POV. Thanks to one of my reviewers who suggested the idea. I appreciate it.**

** Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of its characters.**

Gibbs POV

Today is a paperwork day in the office, which Gibbs hates but realizes the necessity of. They have been working for almost an hour in silence, the rarity of which causes Gibbs to look up from the work he has to do. Bishop is on the floor with her papers spread out around her, as usual. Gibbs can barely see the top of her blonde head from his seat, but trusts that she is doing what she is supposed to be doing. He glances next at Tony, who is flicking a pencil against his desk with his eyes closed, taking a break from the stacks in front of him. Gibbs catches his eye and shoots him a glare. Tony returns to the files. Gibbs flicks his eyes to the last member of the team. McGee is working diligently, and Gibbs feels a small web of pride.

He is a man who likes things a certain way. He doesn't go to the extreme with it. He isn't one of those people who needs all the cups lined up a certain way in the cupboard or all of the clothes hung in a certain order in the closet. But there are some things that he has trouble accepting changes in. His team is one of them. While he likes Bishop and thinks she is an exceptional agent, he still misses the ones there before her. Ziva David, the reckless Mossad agent who became one of few people he trusts with his life. Kate Todd, the secret service agent who was stubborn as heck and loyal down to the end. He is sure that someday he will be able to say the same about Bishop, be able to say that she was smarter than most and a damn good agent. But as of now she is still new. And something about it rubs him a little the wrong way.

Even now, years since Kate died and months since Ziva left to discover herself, Gibbs still catches himself about to say the wrong name. But recently, he has noticed it getting better. He has gotten used to the name Bishop, and it escapes his lips almost as easily and naturally as the name Dinozzo followed by a headslap does. He is set in his ways, yes, but he is also open to change. Except not with his coffee. Never with that.

Gibbs returns his attention to his own paperwork. He is filling out a report about the case they had last week, an interesting one about a drunk Marine who tried to steal a pet deer from a man's backyard. The man fired off a shot and killed the marine, and then panicked. He only wanted to scare a trespasser, never imagining he would kill him. The man called the police, who then called NCIS. The case only took a few minutes to wrap up, but the paperwork is still overwhelming.

Gibb's phone rings, and he answers it with a gruff "Hello." The voice on the other end surprises him. And he is rarely surprised.

"Gibbs, I need to talk to you. I am in DC. Can you meet me somewhere?" Ziva's voice is as familiar as he remembers, but he notices a hint of something he never noticed before. He can't place what it is. Gibbs stands up from his desk and walks immediately to the elevator, ignoring the strange glances from the team. He presses the down button, and as soon as he enters the elevator he pushes the stop button.

"Ziva, what's wrong?"

"Why would anything be wrong? I am in DC. I just wanted to see a familiar face."

"Where are you?" The address she gives him is in a seedy part of town. He briefly wonders why she is staying there before pausing. It's Ziva David. She can handle herself pretty well.

He starts the elevator and flips the phone shut. The ride to the ground floor is silent.

* * *

They meet in the lobby. As he walks into the hotel, he sees Ziva sitting in an over-plushed chair to his right. Her hair is curly, and she looks younger than he remembers.

"Gibbs," she says warmly as she stands up to greet him. He notices dark circles under her eyes that no amount of makeup could cover up. The smile she wears is genuine.

She embraces him quickly, and he feels skin and bone covered by a thin shirt. She pulls away fast and leads him out of the building. He follows her, no questions asked.

They walk to a nearby park in silence. Its early spring, and the trees are just beginning to flower. She takes a deep breath.

"I almost forgot what DC smells like in the spring." She breathes in deeply again and lets it out with a contented sigh. Gibbs watches her, and notices that she looks a little better than she did in that drab hotel.

"Why are you here, Ziva?" She stops, and Gibbs notices a brief look of…something cross her face.

"I cannot come for a visit without their being an ulterior motive?" She glances at Gibbs, then admits defeat. "Fine. I am here because I am tired of living in hotels where no one knows my name. I am tired of taking crap-jobs because I do not have a degree to work in anything and I cannot allow myself to not work. I am tired of barely talking in an entire day because I have no one to discuss things with. And I am tired of being away from those I care about." She doesn't sound angry, but she doesn't sound defeated either. She sounds accepting of the past few months. But she sounds like she does not want to live them anymore.

"So are you moving back here to DC?" His tone is neutral.

"I am debating it. I want to live in the United States. I am unsure if I want to live here though. There are a lot of…memories."

"So why did you call me?" He is genuinely confused by this. She has many friends in DC. And while he knows that he and Ziva have some sort of pseudo father-daughter relationship, he still does not understand why she would come to him before, say, Tony. Or Abby.

"I needed to talk this through with someone. Someone neutral. If I called Abby, she never would have let me leave. Neither would Tony or McGee. But I knew if I called you, you would help me do what was right." He is almost surprised at her unwavering faith in him.

"Are you looking to go back to NCIS?" He notices her pause, and suspects that she has no answer to this question. He is wrong.

"No. I cannot do that anymore. I cannot spend my days worrying about catching another criminal before he hurts someone else. I cannot take that pressure anymore. It hurts too much. Especially when the criminal trips through the cracks."

He doesn't correct her mangled idiom. They walk in silence for another few minutes. Finally, they reach the end of the path. Before they turn around, he needs an answer to one more question. An answer that will help him help her.

"Ziva, what do you _want_ to do?"

**So there's chapter two! I have never written Gibbs POV before, and it was really hard. Hope I didn't mess it up!**


	3. Chapter 3

Last Chapter

_He doesn't correct her mangled idiom. They walk in silence for another few minutes. Finally, they reach the end of the path. Before they turn around, he needs an answer to one more question, before he can help her with anything else._

_ "Ziva, what do you _want_ to do?"_

* * *

Ziva's POV

She has no answer to the question he just asked her. For most of her life she didn't have any choice in the matter, any ability to choose what she wanted. Unlike Tony, or McGee, or Gibbs, she didn't choose the path of law enforcement. She was trained since she was born to go into a life of killing, a life of protecting the innocent. She realizes that she was never innocent, not really. She killed her first man at the age of seventeen. She lost her innocence, her childhood long before that.

She thinks back, and realizes with a shock that she has never had to worry about what she wanted. She knew from the young age of three that she was going to do whatever her father told her, was going to follow in his footsteps no matter what. The ability to make a choice is foreign to her, even though she has been living under the pretense of doing exactly that these past few months. In reality, she was trapped by herself. She had no experience to do anything other than the things she was trying to escape from, and she had no desire to learn something new. But things have changed. She is different. She wants to try at _something. _Something unlike anything she has done before.

Gibbs watches her as she struggles to make her thoughts come out as words. "I want to be …normal. I want redemption. And I want peace. I thought I could get it by leaving. I thought I could get it by finding myself. But I think I am beginning to realize I cannot heal alone." The admission is a struggle. She still isn't used to saying the truth, she still wants to hide behind the wall that has served her so well over the years. And yet, to heal, to get redemption for those she has hurt and killed, she needs others too. Her family.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Gibbs looks at her with his piercing blue eyes and she gets the feeling that he can see right through her.

She straightens her back and feels her confidence begin to grow. "I am coming home."

No further words are needed. Ziva and Gibbs walk back to the hotel in a comfortable silence. Once there, Ziva makes the motion to head back to her room, when Gibbs stops her.

"Grab your stuff."

She looks at him and realizes arguing won't gain her any ground. Still, she has to try. "Gibbs, I am a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"Ziva. I'm not asking." She pauses and stares back at him.

"I do not work for you anymore Gibbs. I do not have to listen to you."

But she goes to get her stuff anyways.

* * *

Gibbs POV

Gibbs leads her to the spare room and watches as she throws her bags on the bed. She then sits on the corner and crosses her legs. Immediately, Gibbs notes the difference from the quiet woman who greeted him at the hotel, the woman who seemed withdrawn and quiet and completely un-Ziva like, and the woman who sits on the edge of the bed. This woman is different. This woman seems stronger, as if the fact that she is in someplace familiar is slowly returning her to who she was. She is becoming more confident. She is returning to the Ziva that they knew and loved.

His phone rings and he flips it open with a silent curse. Ziva glances at him questioningly, and then he sees a light of recognition in her eyes. After working for him for so long, it is easy for her to assume it's another case. She's right.

"I have to go Ziva. There's a case. You good?"

"Always." He's walking out of the room when he hears her voice again. "Gibbs?" He turns. "Do not mention this to the others. I want to tell them I am back myself."

He nods in response and walks out.

* * *

The case is short, and is resolved quite quickly with the hasty murderer behind bars. A marine was sleeping with another man's wife, and this man got mad. He took a gun, came up behind the marine as he was sleeping, and shot him. Then he shot his wife. The man tried to run, but the team caught up to him, with Tony making the final arrest. After everything is wrapped up, Gibbs lets the team go around eleven. He himself leaves the navy yard around midnight.

When he arrives at his house it is pitch black. He fumbles around in the dark for a few seconds before finding the light switch. He flips the living room light on and makes his way to the kitchen. He opens the fridge, expecting to see the same empty sight he always sees. Instead, he finds a Tupperware container full of spaghetti with a note that says FOR GIBBS in the blocky handwriting that could only belong to one person. He smiles, and then plops the spaghetti on a plate in the microwave. He stands by the counter and waits for the ding. When it comes, he takes the spaghetti out and eats alone at the table. He's in the middle of a bite of spaghetti when he hears a scream.

He's out of his chair and up the stairs to her room in a flash. She's tossing and turning, and as he walks into the room she screams again. This time, she shoots up in bed. She woke herself up.

"Ziva, what's wrong?"

She's crying, and looks almost completely broken. He isn't sure if she is fully aware of what's going on, and he doesn't want to cause her to panic.

Gingerly, he sits down on the very edge of the bed. He debates whether saying something will cause more harm than good, when a memory seizes him. "Ziva, when Kelly was a little girl she would have nightmares. She always woke up screaming, and her mother and I didn't know what to do about it. Finally, one of Shannon's coworkers suggested something that worked on her own kids." Ziva sits up in bed and wipes the tears out of her eyes. She quickly pulls herself together, and Gibbs watches as the mask she always wears comes down over her face.

"What did you guys do?"

"We started asking Kelly what her dreams were about. It was usually little stuff. She dreamed that her favorite doll grew really big and started chasing her around. Or she would dream that Shannon or I would be kidnapped, and that we were never coming back to her. Eventually, we came up with a system. First, we would ask her what her dream was about and have her tell us about it in as much detail as she could. Then, we would do whatever we had to to get her to recognize that her dream wasn't real."

Ziva pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her head on them. "You must have been a good father."

Gibbs sighs, and gets lost in old memories. After a moment, he pulls himself back to reality. "I like to think I did what I could. But it was never enough. Never enough for that beautiful little girl."

They sit in quiet for a few moments before Ziva speaks again. "I have been having this dream for a long time. I dream that I am standing at the airport as Tony boards to leave. It feels so real. I am imagining him getting on the plane, and I watch as the plane takes off. And I always, always turn away right before the explosion. And I always turn back to see a ball of flames. And I do not understand. When I wake up, I know he is fine. I know that I am being irrational. But the dream Will Not Go Away." She says the last part through gritted teeth, and Gibbs can feel the frustration coming off of her in waves, almost as real as heat off the flames of a fire.

"There's only one solution." She looks up at him. "Ziva, you need to see him. That's the only way the dreams will stop."

She stares back at her knees as he leaves the room to make a call.

**Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I really appreciate the help. Even constructive criticism.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note: Wow. Real life decided to seize hold of me. The selfish thing wouldn't let me out to type up the next chapter. Until now. Thanks to Athenalarissa for reminding me that I had a story that I should probably update.**

**Disclaimer: In a parallel universe, I would own NCIS. This is not a parallel universe. All characters and the show belong to CBS.**

Tony's POV

He is wide awake when he gets the phone call. The sound of the TV muffles his groans as he picks up the phone. They just finished one case. Now it's time for another. Or at least that's what he assumes.

He answers the phone. "Gibbs. Let me guess – another case."

"It's not a case. Just come to my house. It's important."

"Gibbs, can't this wait until morning? I have plans. It's the annual late night Hitchcock marathon. This only comes once a year." Tony knows he is whining slightly, but he ignores it.

"Record it. This can't wait."

"On my way." Tony presses the end button on his phone and watches as the screen turns to black. Sighing, he presses record on his TV remote and grabs his wallet, phone, and keys. He never bothered to undress, so he doesn't have to worry about digging through the dirty laundry for a pair of pants. As he walks out the door Tony makes a mental note to catch up on stuff around the apartment. He's been too busy recently.

The drive to Gibbs' house takes less time than usual. When he arrives, Tony examines the house quickly before heading inside. It doesn't look like it's burning down. Doesn't look like there is any immediate danger. Tony wonders why he is needed here this late at night.

As usual, Gibbs' door is unlocked. Tony makes some noise as he walks inside so he doesn't accidently get shot. He knows Gibbs is expecting him, but after all, better to be safe than sorry.

"Hello?" The word rings unanswered through the mostly silent house. Tony hears some noise from above, so he climbs the stairs. Something feels off. He wonders if the late night movie marathon is putting him on edge.

"Gibbs? You here?" This time he gets a response. It's coming from Gibbs' guest room.

Tony is about to enter the room when Gibbs opens the door. He shuts it quickly behind him.

The two men stare at each other for a couple of seconds. Finally, Tony does what he does best. "Got a woman in there, boss? Does she need some help?"

Gibbs slaps him on the head and almost smiles. Or at least that's what Tony tells himself. He doesn't want to admit that it could also be a grimace. He opens his mouth again. "Seriously Gibbs. Why am I here?"

"I told you. I need your help with something." Gibbs looks like he is about to say something else, but stops. Tony watches as he turns the door handle behind him. "Just don't get mad okay? She doesn't need that right now."

Tony barely has time to wonder what Gibbs is talking about before the door swings completely open. For a moment, he stands stark still, unable to believe his own eyes. It is so unlike what he expected that he almost doesn't realize that he just predicted what was behind that door. Gibbs excuses himself and goes downstairs while Tony begins to walk into the room.

He wonders if he is dreaming as he journeys towards the figure on the bed. Because he knows she can't be sitting in the middle of Gibb's guest bedroom in an oversize Ohio State T-shirt cleaning a gun. He know that she must be in London, or Rome, or maybe even Berlin. He kind of hopes she is in Berlin, because that might mean that city means as much to her as it did to him. He can't fathom that she is here in front of him.

But she is. She glances from the gun to him and gives a sort of half smile. "Hello Tony." He can see the hint of old tears in her eyes, but right now she is not crying. Right now, she looks strong.

"Hey Ziva." Their eyes lock together, and suddenly it's like they are back in the bullpen, ignoring their paperwork in favor for something else. They have always communicated best through gazes and body language. The words, now that's where they fell short. As he looks at her, he wonders if she still thinks about that kiss. He wonders if she knew what that meant. He doesn't think he does.

He doesn't know what to say. Just another case of words falling short. He has the childish urge to make a joke, but he knows now is not the time, even though he feels that would make him feel better. The NCIS mandated therapist tells him that it is a defense mechanism. He likes to think he is just a funny guy, but deep inside wonders if the therapist is right.

Ziva slides over in the bed and Tony sits down next to her. He notices the contrast quickly. He is still in his work clothes, and his suit and hair gel have held up well. She is riddled with the marks of sleep, with bedhead hair and a rumpled shirt. Her tan skin is flushed slightly red, and he stares slightly too long at an exposed thigh before catching himself.

He thinks this should probably feel awkward, but it doesn't. She returns to cleaning her gun, and he returns to looking at her. He knows she knows he is watching her, but she doesn't stop him. Finally, he breaks the silence. "So…" The word hangs silently in the late night air.

She glances at him and huffs out a little puff of air. "I am sorry Gibbs called you. I know it is late."

"Why?" She looks at him like she isn't sure which why he is referring to. He runs through the possibilities. _Why did she leave, why is she here_… He clarifies. "Why did Gibbs call me?"

She laughs slightly at that. It's a relieved laugh, and he knows she was worried he was going into things she didn't want to talk about. But he wasn't. Not yet.

Surprisingly, she is straightforward. "He called you because I had a nightmare. When Kelly was little she had a lot of them. Gibbs and Shannon had a method of dealing with the nightmares, and step two was prove that the dream hadn't happened. So he called you." She says this matter of fact, like this kind of thing happens all the time. He begins to wonder if it does. Not the calling him part (he thinks he would notice that), but the nightmares. He had hoped they had stopped by now. But hell, if he had her life he would probably still have nightmares too.

They sit in silence for a while longer as she finishes with the gun. When she is done, she rises up and puts it underneath her pillow. Then she faces him. He automatically pushes back a lock of hair that fell into her face, and she leans in to hug him. She rests her head against his chest. "Thank you Tony."

"I was always there, you know." When she looks up at him questioningly, he explains. "You knew my phone number. You could have called me - I've dealt with your nightmares before." He thinks back to Paris and Berlin, where both times she woke up screaming. "You are not alone." She looks up at him and nods once. They settle in silence for a few moments before she draws away.

"Do you want to stay? I know it is late, and you probably should not be driving around town at this time of night. Besides, this bed is pretty big."

"Do you think Gibbs will mind? After all, this is his house. Plus, you know, the rules."

She looks up at him seriously. "I do not work for Gibbs anymore. I do not have to follow his rules." He doesn't want to think about what else that could mean. Now is not the time. She reaches to turn off the lamp by the bed as Tony pulls off his shoes, jacket, pants, and tie. He doesn't bother with modesty. She's seen it all before.

Ziva curls into a ball on her side of bed, being careful not to touch him. He knows that despite that effort by morning she will probably be laying on top of him. The woman sleeps like a starfish, and has to have the whole bed to herself. He doesn't mind. He was always one of those children who liked to share.

That night, both of them fall asleep faster than either has in the months previous. They sleep peacefully, a nice change for both of them.

**So I have no idea if the annual late night Hitchcock marathon is a thing. If it was, I could totally see Tony staying up for that. As always, reviews are appreciated, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed previously. **

**(By the way, sorry for uploading this twice. I made a few stupid typos).**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** **I do not own NCIS or any of the characters. I just borrow them.**

Ziva's POV

Ziva wakes to the feeling of air against her face. She drags her eyes open and stares into the sleeping face of her former partner. His arms are around her waist, and they tighten as she begins to move, drawing her even closer to the man she is practically glued to. He sighs in his sleep, and she begins to chuckle. He reminds her of a little kid, desperately clenching his teddy bear to ensure it doesn't get stolen during the night. She sobers up, realizing he has reason to be so protective. She has left him far too many times for him not to worry about it happening again. This time, she won't leave, although he doesn't know that yet. She hasn't given him reason to believe it.

Carefully, she begins to remove herself from his arms, trying not to wake him up. She is comfortable and wishes to remain that way for longer, but she also has to use the bathroom. Despite the sneakiness that has been engrained in her since childhood, she is unsuccessful in escaping his embrace without causing him to awake. He rolls over as she opens the door to Gibb's guest room.

"Where are you going?" His words are mumbled softly in the early morning air, and she shivers in the cold, hoping he doesn't notice. He does.

"Just come back to bed if you are cold. I don't bite." She realizes how domestic that sounds, and is transported to a future where this is the norm. Where they always share the same bed, she gets to smell the flavor that is him whenever she wants, and things aren't so awkward between them. In reality, things aren't awkward at this point, but that is weird in and of itself. They've been away from each other for months, yet everything feels right. She feels comfortable with him. She wants to return to his embrace, and maybe she could without it being weird. But before she does anything, she still has to pee.

"I will be right back, okay?" She walks out, feeling like she is betraying him in some small way by doing so. Like she is letting him down by ignoring his offer of warmth. Like she is walking away from him again as his plane flies away from that little airport in her home country. She realizes she is overthinking things, and tries to bring herself back to reality. But what is reality anymore? Are they friends, acquaintances, partners? Are they going to return to what they were before, or can they grow? She doesn't know, she doesn't want to think about it. All she knows is that he is offering himself to her, despite what she has done to him in the past. That has to be enough.

When she returns, he is putting his shoes on. The bed is made, and she regrets that she is unable to rejoin the warmth. He is silent, and she feels that she has ruined something. Still, she tries to fix it, as best as she can. She walks over to him, wraps her arms around his torso, and stands there in his embrace. After a moment, his arms wrap around her, and they stay there for far too long before she offers to make him breakfast. He accepts, but only if he can help. She agrees. And so the awkwardness is diverted, even if it is only a game of avoidance. Eventually they will need to talk. But not right now. Right now, they are good.

Gibbs POV

Gibbs wakes up later than he normally does. He rarely sleeps in, so the extra half hour really throws him off. He is used to three, maybe four hours of sleep in a night. Any more makes it harder for him to fully awake in the morning. As he rolls out of bed and pulls a suit on, he aches for a coffee. Today is going to be a struggle.

When he is fully dressed and decently presentable, he makes his way out of his room and heads straight for the kitchen. The coffee machine has an automatic timer, and he hopes that the damn thing will work this morning. The coffeemaker has a fifty percent success rate. That is in a good week.

He walks into his kitchen hoping to find coffee, and instead finds a sleepy eyed woman and man sitting at the breakfast table eating pancakes. Thankfully there is coffee too, and Gibbs downs a cup in one gulp. He then raises his eyebrow at Tony. "You mind telling me why you're still here?"

Tony glances pathetically at Ziva, and then begins to stammer some unintelligible words. The dark haired woman chuckles softly at his attempts, and Gibbs decides to let him off the hook. The coffee is beginning to take effect, and even Tony is becoming slightly more tolerable.

He grabs a slice of bacon, wondering when Ziva found the time to go shopping, and pops it into his mouth as he walks out the door. As an afterthought, he turns to Tony before he leaves. "You might want to get moving. You don't have permission to be late."

As Gibbs drives to work, he wonders about the two people he left sitting in his kitchen. He has known them both for years, and he knows how they act around each other. They are explosive, both demanding more from the other than they are willing to give. He has known for years that the two of them have something, and has always waited in fear for the day they both realize what they could have. It could end one of two ways. Complete and utter heartbreak, or growth and development from two people trapped, in a way, in their own pasts. As he pulls into the Navy Yard, he wonders at his agents, both current and former. He doesn't want them hurt. But it's not his decision. It's up to them to realize what they are doing and make it work, if they can.

Tony's POV

Despite Gibbs' warning, Tony ends up arriving to work late, thirty minutes after the silver haired man does. Gibbs chews Tony out, and gives him a well-deserved headslap before sending him to his paperwork from the day before. Tony sits down and works steadily on it for a while, almost in a daydream. The morning was strange, almost dreamlike. In a way, he wonders if it all was a dream, if the dark-haired Israeli was never more than a figment of his over-exhausted imagination. He is pretty sure she wasn't, pretty sure that he couldn't have hallucinated something like that in such great detail.

He concludes that she really is back, and this is not just a dream. No one other than he and Gibbs know about her though. Abby, McGee, Ducky, Jimmy, and even Vance have no knowledge of her return. He feels that they deserve to know that she has returned, that they need to know the weary traveler has come back to her home, but at the same time he knows it is her decision, that she needs to choose to let them back into her life when she wants to. He has no right to make decisions for her. He never has, although he has tried. It never turned out well.

He spends the morning in a daze, intricacies of paperwork and thoughts of the woman he woke up to tumbling through his mind. When he finally gets a lunch break, he throws on his jacket and leaves the naval yard in search of coffee and food. He flips his phone open and debates calling her, but decides not to. She knows his number, and he honestly has no clue how to reach her. The cellphone number she used to have has been disconnected, and Gibbs doesn't have a house phone. So he decides to wait. The ball is in her court. She can search him out if she needs to find him. He has searched to the ends of the world for her, and it didn't even pan out the way he wanted it to. It's her turn now. If she wants him, if she wants to return to the people she left destroyed with her absence, she has to make the effort. He has faith that she will. He believes in her. Always has, always will.

_**I have no excuses for how late this update is, besides the fact that real life can be a hassle sometimes. Hope this is enough for now. I will really try to update faster, because I feel like this story deserves the attention. I hope people are still reading, and I hope this is good enough for you guys for now. I will sincerely work harder to update more regularly. Hope you enjoyed!**_


	6. Chapter 6

**I realize that by now, I must seem like a broken record. I am always saying that I will update soon, and I always end up updating again months later. So I make no more promises. I will complete this story, but I can't say when that will be or that the chapters will come more consistently. I can say that I am in a writing headspace for the first time in a long time, and that will have to be enough. Thank you to anyone still around.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. The situations presented here are all figments of my over exhausted imagination. **

Tony's POV

It's been three days since he woke up holding a dark-haired woman, three days since she came back into his life in a whirlwind of suddenness and confusion. In those three days, his mind has been pretty much consumed by her. Her presence, her smell, and most of all her eyes. He doesn't know what it is, but he can't get her eyes out of his head.

He finds that he has started to imagine her in the bullpen again. He drifts off into his own head, and he can almost convince himself that the woman sitting across the aisle from him has dark-hair instead of blonde, brown eyes instead of blue. It hasn't been this bad since right after she left, and Tony begins to curse her for coming back. At least before she returned he was coping, at least before she came back he could spend his days with a clear head and some semblance of concentration.

Gibbs knows that he is off his game, and Tony is sure that Gibbs knows why. He hasn't mentioned her to Tony at all, and Tony is unsure whether to be grateful or annoyed. Yes, he is waiting for her to contact him, and yes, he is determined not to give in this time, but Gibbs could take some of the edge off, at least tell him that she is doing okay. Still, he doesn't ask, and Gibbs doesn't offer information.

Their case load has been light recently, and at least Tony has that to be thankful for. He doesn't know how he would feel if he were to mess things up because of this plague in his head, but he is sure he wouldn't feel good about it. She infatuates him, tempts him, frustrates him to no end. She is like a drug that he had finally gotten clean of, a drug that came back into his life to tempt him all over again. He realizes that despite all of this, he regrets nothing.

If she came to him and told him that she cared for him, that she needed him and that he was all she ever wanted, he would go with her at once. No hard feelings, no thoughts of the past and the times she has let him down. That scares him, because he wants to be in control. He wants to be able to deal with her with a level head, he wants her to realize how much she really did hurt all of them. In some sadistic way, he wants her to feel the pain she has caused to them, and that thought scares him the most. He is not a vengeful man, not for the most part. She brings out the best and the worst of him.

He knows how he feels for her, has known for a long time. And he is pretty sure he knows how she feels for him. But she won't admit it, and he certainly won't. So they are stuck at a crossroads, both too stubborn to do anything about it. The one time he let himself act on his desire, the time he captured her lips with his and tried to express what he felt, she ran away from him and everything she knew. They destroy each other. They hurt each other.

He is startled from his musings by a knock on the door, and he flips the TV that he was barely paying attention too off before answering it. It shouldn't surprise him that the object of his thoughts was standing outside his door, but it still does. He is a firm believer in the universe sorting things out for the better, but always thinks this belief does not apply to him. Still, she is here, wearing a sweat-soaked shirt and running shoes.

"I just…" she trails off, and he wonders if she even knew what she was doing here. He gestures for her to come in, and she does, tentatively, as if she fears his invitation is insincere. He locks the door behind her, and turns to look at her.

Their eyes meet, and Tony stares into the milk-chocolate orbs for far too long before breaking the silence. "Do you want something to drink?" She nods in affirmation, and he walks to his fridge to get her a bottle of water. He's not sure that's what she wants, but he figures it makes the most sense based on what she is wearing and what she was doing. He guesses correctly, and she drinks most of the water in a matter of seconds. As she caps the lid, he watches as her mind tries to form words. He is guessing that she feels just as awkward as he does. Her mind seems to draw a blank, and he feels the frustration rolling off of her in waves at the silence.

Finally, she gives up. She stares up at him, and their eyes meet again. He is caught up in the intensity of them, caught up in the words that she cannot say and is trying to express through the dark spheres. He's not sure who takes the first step, but suddenly they are both in each other's space, close enough to be almost touching. They're not, but one shift in weight by either of them and they would be.

"I am sorry," the words tumble off her lips like a waterfall, and he sees as she tries to stuff them back in, tries to pretend she didn't break one of Gibbs's rules and one of the cornerstones of their relationship. He sees exhaustion in her eyes, and it shouldn't surprise him when she decides to screw convention and the habit that the two of them have of never saying what they mean.

"I am sorry for leaving. I am sorry for leaving Abby, and McGee, and Gibbs and Ducky, and I am sorry for leaving NCIS. But mostly, I am sorry for leaving you. I know that I cannot make up for it, I know that words are hollow and that actions are what really matters, but I needed to leave. I needed to explore myself, I needed to travel and think and be something else. I needed to be…different. Be the person that I could have been if I had not been raised to kill and destroy and hurt. And I could not do that with you, I could not do that with a constant reminder of someone I had hurt standing by with me. And I am sorry. I am so sorry." A tear rolls down her cheek, and he doesn't think he has ever seen her this vulnerable before. He certainly hasn't heard her apologize like this before, and he hasn't heard her this hurt since the wail she let out at her father's death.

He thinks briefly about how different she is. The Ziva he knew would never admit to any of this, the Ziva he knew would lie and deceive and manipulate to get out of saying what she felt she needed to say. The Ziva who returned from exploring herself is different. The Ziva who returned from her trip is willing to be real, and that thought causes him to feel more emotion and longing than he has in a long time.

He doesn't know who closes the gap between the two of them, but suddenly her head is on his chest and his arms are around her waist. She is crying, deep gulping sobs, and the raw vulnerability scares him. He has seen her mad, he has seen her hopeless, and he has seen her in pain. But he has never seen her like this. He mutters nonsensical things into her ear, says that everything will be alright and that tomorrow is a new day. He tells her that he is not mad, that everything will be fine. He talks on and on, until his shirt is soaked and her sobs are stopped. She pulls away from him, and speaks again.

"Why don't you hate me?" He tries to interject, but she cuts him off. "You should. I have done horrible things. I have hated myself for years because of it, and I have hurt you more than anyone else. Why don't you hate me?"

"I can't." The words fall off his lips, and he knows that he couldn't hate her, that despite all the bad that has happened between them the good far outweighs anything negative. "You focus on the bad. You focus on the mistakes, the horrible things that have happened between us. The bad things that we BOTH have done. But when you do that, you leave out the good things that have happened. You leave out the times we have sat in this very room watching movies and talking about everything and nothing. You forget the times we have gotten drunk and laughed so hard that the next day my abs were sorer than if I had done 1,000 sit-ups. You forget the pranks against McGee, the workroom jabber, the Gibbs glares. You can't focus on the bad. There is good along with every bad situation."

She glances up at him, and for a second he thinks that she doesn't believe him, that she thinks he is lying to her. Whatever she sees in his face causes her to pause, and he watches as she nods once. She accepts this. Whatever just happened, she believed what he said.

"Are we okay?" She asks this question hesitantly, tentatively.

He lets out a sigh. "We're getting there." She nods, and rests her head back onto his chest. They stand there, wrapped up in each other's arms for longer than either one of them know

He cannot escape her. Despite the bad that happens between them, despite the pain that she has caused him, he needs her, he can't let her go. She could drag him through the dirt time and time again, and he would still be there for her when she came back to him. And she always comes back to him.


End file.
